


A Goddess Walks Among Us

by leafiest_groves



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Female Jason Grace, Grief/Mourning, Memorials, Memory Alteration, Multi, Next Generation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Reincarnation, writing letters to the dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafiest_groves/pseuds/leafiest_groves
Summary: She doesn't remember.Thalia does.Juno interferes.So does everyone else.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Calypso/Leo Valdez, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Jason Grace & Juno, Jason Grace & Thalia Grace, Thalia Grace and Juno
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. Jason is reborn.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Saving Grace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376211) by [willow_lark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willow_lark/pseuds/willow_lark). 



Jason has to make a choice. 

He chooses to try for rebirth.

Juno has to make a choice.

Where Jason goes, she decides to follow.

* * *

June has raised Grace for almost her whole life. 

All of Grace's memories are of the two-bedroom apartment above the diner June owns and runs. It's her whole world.

Sweet, wonderful June has loved Grace, has been there for her from the beginning. Grace asked her once, why she loved her so much. June had a faraway look in her eyes then. She'd whispered then, that her son was dead, and that she reminded her of her son so much.

Not that Grace remembers anything June said about him. 

She does remember June running her fingers over her scar, as if thinking of a lost memory. She tries not to think of it often.

* * *

Grace has accumulated quite the eclectic collection of keepsakes. Most of these things are presents from June. She looks over the open trunk with satisfaction on a windy morning in May, leaving her bay window open to let the spring-summer air in. 

The gold coin with strange engravings on it is glinting in the light, and her eyes are drawn to it first. It feels cool under her fingertips, the metal still rough in some places. It's satisfying to the touch, with jagged bumps and raised letters carved into it. 

Next is a necklace, or more accurately, a leather rope with a shiny polished bead threaded through. It's got a dragon painted onto it, and Grace thinks she'd wear it more often if the bead wasn't such a dreadful shade of orange.

Lying next to it is a pretty purple shirt that she'd cropped off as a teenager. It's got the letters SPQR on it, and June mentioned that it was from her college days. Grace used to think it made her look older, but as years have gone by, it only makes her seem more youthful.

There's an old stack of sketchbooks in here too, and they're Grace's most cherished present. She keeps them in their own little box. June said they'd belonged to her son, and that he'd drawn in it right up until a week before his death. When Grace has time, she likes to flip through it, looking over all the faded pencil and pen sketches of statues, and what look like blueprints for Greco-Roman temples. 

It was this stack of sketchbooks that sparked Grace's love for stars and myths. She never met June's son, he'd died before Grace was born, but she's sure that if he was alive, they'd get on rather well. Pages and pages of his sketchbook are filled with the night sky, others with what look like forests in the warm sunlight. Next to the temple blueprints his messy scrawl details which deity those temples are for, along with plenty of miscellaneous tidbits about them. 

When Grace first hears June mention someone called Jason, years from now, her memories are forcibly turned hazy by forces she wasn't even aware of. Maybe if she'd remembered that June knew a Jason, then she would've finally realized a great truth about those sketchbooks.

Grace doesn't remember. Grace never does seem to remember, in this life and the one that came before.

* * *

It's a week after Grace's fifteenth birthday, and June finally seems to muster up the courage to give her a birthday present _besides_ her new sewing machine. It's a little gold ring. June sits down on the edge of her bed to give it to her. She seems lost in thought for a moment before she presses it into Grace's palm.

Grace simply stares at it awe.

"It's..uhm, my mother's wedding ring." June said, and her voice wavers. "I wanted to give it to my son, but by the time I decided I'd like to, it was too late." 

Grace chokes up, taking off her glasses before they get fogged up as a result of her tears. June hugs her, and Grace is speechless. June seems happy when she pulls back to kiss her forehead fondly. 

"My little hero." 

* * *

Grace's latest library issue is about the planets and the gods they're named for. She has issued it dozens of times surely, but she never gets tired of it. She wonders if June's son would have liked it. 

Her fingertips flip through the sections until she reaches her favorite. Jupiter.

Rain of diamonds and endless storms were fascinating enough, the numerous moons named after Jupiter's many affairs more so. There was a discussion of the god himself, and Grace had it off by heart. 

"Jupiter shares a name with the king of the gods in Roman mythology. Jupiter was the god of the sky, and fathered a great many heroes, whom his wife, Juno, greatly despised." 

She traces her lithe fingers over the illustration that accompanies the text, a stern, regal man with shining eyes and a curly beard to go with his curly brown hair. She sees the names on the next page, his sons Hercules, Perseus, Apollo, Mercury, Bacchus. There's many more that follow. 

She pushes her glasses back up her nose from where they're slipping off. The list makes her wonder. Wonder what life would have been like as a child of Jupiter. Every myth she's read makes it seem miserable. June's son didn't seem too happy with Jupiter's children in his sketchbook either, he usually drew them as tortured beings in various stages of insanity. Grace wonders dryly if he remembered that Hercules was the only one driven to madness.

Her gory daydream of monsters and half-men was rudely interrupted by a spark shooting through her finger. She glared down at Jupiter, as if it were all his fault. Jupiter - so quick Grace swore her eyes were playing tricks on her - winked at her, merrily, as if she greatly amused him.

"Want a refill dearie?" 

When Grace looked up, June was hovering over her fondly.

“Hm?”

“Your milkshake, my little hero. On the house.”

"Yes, please, June. Thank you." 

June peered down at the book, and Grace was distracted by her headache while June commented on Jupiter's infidelity rather sarcastically. In the end, she did manage to hear June say, “And you know all about that, of course, Jason.”

Confused, she stammered "What? Who's-"

June brushed her off. It made Grace's stomach turn a little. She never did that. 

"Now how about that milkshake?" June smiled, filled with her usual cheer again. Grace felt her temples throbbing painfully. Her headache was still pounding in her skull, and it was almost as if a band of iron had gone around her head. When the pages turned of her book turned in the busy wind coming in through the open windows, they flipped to the section about the moon, and Grace's mind immediately reminded her of the girl in her nightmares. Perhaps it had something to do with the painting of Diana with her bow that decorated the page.

Grace's nightmares had become more frequent again, and they all seemed to revolve around one girl. She alternatively appeared as a child or a teenager, and her haunting blue eyes were burned into Grace's thoughts. Her dreams felt so familiar, as if she were reliving memories, but all these dreams were of strange and unfamiliar situations and scenarios. Grace had never fought monsters or fought in battles, and she'd never been struck by lightning and lived. Somehow, this girl in her dreams had, even though Grace was sure she'd never met this girl before.

The doorbell clinked and tinkled cheerfully, and Grace turned to look at whoever had just come in. It was a group of teenage girls, in parkas and circlets. They looked lithe and strong, and she wondered if they were gymnasts. One of them, the leader it seemed, turned to hush them. For a second, her eyes met Grace's. They were unbelievably bright blue. Grace would recognize her anywhere. It was the girl from her dreams and nightmares.

A greeting was on the tip of her tongue, but it didn't pass her lips. The girl had simply ignored her, and turned her attention to June, who'd come in carrying Grace's chocolate milkshake. June seemed to recognize her, and they both glared viciously at each other before the girl started a hushed conversation with June. It quickly devolved into an argument that ended with the girl slamming her fist on the countertop in rage.

“You’ve messed up my life countless times! The least you can do is give us some damn ambrosia!”

June glared at her once more, before reaching under the counter to hand her a little plastic bag filled with what looked like sugar cubes.

"Now that wasn't so hard, now was it?" 

Grace was angry at this point, ready to get up and interfere in case she was going to make it worse. What right did this girl have to come in here and claim that June had 'ruined her life'? Why did she have to antagonize sweet, lovely June, who was nothing but kind and warm?

"Hey June, I'll take my milkshake now, thanks."

June was still smiling, tersely and tightly. The malice in her eyes frightened June. It made her stomach flip with uneasiness. She turned slightly, and she made eye contact with the girl. It made another wave of pain rip through her head. She felt dizzy, like her head was stuffed with cotton and slow.

The condensation on the cold glass made it slippery under her fingers as she recoiled at the jolt of pain. Grace knew this girl, she was sure of it. Not only in her mind—from real life as well. But for the life of her, Grace just couldn’t remember. It was as if the memory was lost in time, buried deep somewhere far away that she couldn’t reach.

June's chuckling and her quiet remark seemed so far away. "Thank you for the milkshake, June." She called, before stumbling back to her booth. By the time she sat down and managed to open her eyes enough to look up, the group of girls was gone. 


	2. Jason is dead.

It's been fifteen years since they lost Jason. 

It still hurts just as badly when the roses bloom every July around his well-worn grave.

Annabeth wonders sometimes, how to explain away the one person who's been missing from their pictures for a decade and a half.

Children's questions are innocent, and Annabeth is well aware of that. Despite that, she can't help but feel like the gods are testing her resolve whenever her children ask her about her long lost friends. Annabeth has kept some of Jason's old journals for Thalia's sake. They sat untouched for years, until one day, a playdate led to that tearstained box being opened up to the eyes of 3 curious children. That was the day an explanation felt like it was due. 

Annabeth has since put those journals into the attic, tucked away behind the old boxes of college books and jackets Percy insisted on keeping all these years later. On her more sorrowful nights, she pulls down the rickety old attic ladder, and climbs up into the dusty little alcove with her flashlight in hand. She puts those old college memories aside for even older ones, and opens up a book with the name 'Jason' neatly written in slanting cursive on the inside cover. 

All of the temples Jason ever drew in his lifetime were built. Annabeth saw to it herself. He didn't live to to see any of them.

Annabeth wonders if Jason would have been in her architecture class in college. Every one of those temples has the handiwork of a death on them, and they're all hauntingly beautiful. Whenever she visits them, to pray for her family, for her future, and for her lost friends, she thinks he would have liked it. 

The living room is quiet tonight. Percy's even breathing is right in her lap, and her two daughters are soundly asleep upstairs (she can hear Selene snoring from down here). Mrs. O'Leary is fast asleep as well, curled around her legs on the floor. Annabeth has a book in hand, and she reads it with the confidence of someone who's read it a thousand times. Her reading glasses slide down her nose before she pushes them back up. 

'Jason' the inside cover reads. Not Pontifex or Praetor or even Jason Grace, just Jason. Just what he'd wanted to be all his life. 

There's a page full of sketches, and scrawled right next to a colored pencil of her glaring teenage self is a little note. 

_This is Annabeth. She doesn't normally judo-flip people, but she's pretty good at it._

Tomorrow is the first of July.

Annabeth smooths a hand over the journal cover in the quiet of the night, running her free hand through her husband's hair. 

Her eyes go to the clock in the kitchen. In only a few minutes, the clock will strike twelve. 

The smile that spreads across Annabeth's face is a small, fond one. It's not bitter anymore. Hasn't been for a good few years now.

The ticking gets her attention again. It is midnight, it is the first of July.

_Happy birthday Jason._

* * *

Percy watches from a distance while his children entertain themselves with all sorts of games on this hot summer day.

Today's target appears to be Blackjack, who's indulging Selene and Charlotte while they clamber up onto his back and braid his hair with grass instead of flowers. Meadows are usually full of picnicking families this time of year, but blessedly, this little clearing by the river is free for their use.

He hears clattering hoofbeats from above and beside him, and is puzzled for a moment before Tempest fully materializes and touches down next to him. He says nothing, simply nodding at Percy in acknowledgement before sitting in the grass beside Blackjack. They nicker softly and nuzzle in greeting, both seem ready to fall asleep. Percy can't blame them, he's half tempted to lie down in the grass and fall asleep himself. 

"Dad look! You asked me to pick- to pick you some wildflowers, remember? I found these!" 

Charlotte bounds up with her hands full of daisies and primroses. Her fingers are stained with dirt, and her jet black curls bounce around her head in the summer breeze. Percy kneels to her height, taking her hands in his before ruffling her hair fondly. 

"Thanks Charlie. Now go, Sel's calling you." 

She nearly trips over before running over to her younger sister, but manages an 'I'm okay!' and bounds ahead with the same limitless energy that his mother said he had growing up. He eyes the bouquet of wildflowers in his hand, and searches for a few more long stalks of daisies. Satisfied, he waves Estelle over from where she's trying (and failing) to fish with her bare hands. 

"Stella, could you watch the girls for me, for just a sec? I...have something to do."

She nods in the affirmative, shaking off the dirt and throwing a grin in his direction. Tromping out of the muddy riverbank, she waves as if playfully dismissing him, and walks over to sit in the warm sunshine with her nieces. 

Percy hears hoofbeats behind him again as he walks. Tempest looks at him questioningly, but once again says nothing. 

Their walk lets them see how summer bloomed everything around them, flowers and grass at their tallest and brightest, and the bustling city seems so far away. Birds titter and chirp around them, and Percy thinks of how they used to land on the shoulders of the person he's going to visit today. 

When his feet came to a stop, it's in front of Jason's grave.

The vines have made the trailing fences around the mausoleum lush in their summer growth, all their leaves still a bright and dark green. There's violet morning glories around the gates, the same soft purple Jason had loved. It makes Percy smile. 

There's birds here, nesting in the little nooks and crannies, cheeping at their newborns and fluttering about in a rush to stock up for the winter. They sing for Jason just as they had while he still lived, their song is just as sweet as ever.

There's a little bed of white roses around Jason's grave. Percy would know, he helped plant them. He kneels to put his bouquet beside what appear to be dozens of others. Percy's always known that Jason loved wildflowers. These white roses that bloom around him were a testament to the beauty Jason had added to the world before and after his death, not a testament to his tastes.

Jason much preferred wildflowers, in all their messiness, to the clinical perfection of the roses and orchids that grew in every garden in New Rome. They were a part of his childhood, a part of the memories of who'd come for him when everyone else had left. Daisies were just as soft and hopeful as Jason's soul had been. It makes Percy choke up to think about it sometimes.

Annabeth's cousin Magnus had once mentioned that daisies were given to new mothers, and planted on graves when children died young. Percy's a father now, and the mere thought of burying his children makes him violently sick to his stomach. He can imagine why daisies, in all their melancholy youthfulness, were given to grieving parents. Percy wonders sometimes if Jason's got daisies wherever he is now, wonders if he's got a field or meadow to lay in and enjoy. 

The trees are whispering in the wind, and the leaves on the vines tremble and shake even in this slow breeze. Tempest kneels next to Percy, and noses at the stone before dissolving into a gale right next to him. The force of the wind sends Percy's hair flying, and it certainly leaves it a tangled mess. The vines rustle and the birds chirp indignantly. Percy smile softly, a quiet smile that was only really meant for one person.

_Happy birthday, Jason._

* * *

He'd never really been one for fine art. That's changed.

Leo's been working on this sculpture for a good few years now. It's a quiet passion project that he's been improving on for nearly half a decade now. He started it on the tenth anniversary of Jason's death. He almost hadn't wanted to believe ten years had gone by since his best friend left him. The thought still gives him pause. 

It's been five years since then, and Leo's pretty sure he's finally done. 

The sculpture is a decently big one, on the floor the highest parts reach his knees. It's a recreation of one of the last group pictures they'd taken before Jason's death. All seven of them are in it. It's taken five years to finish, most likely because his grief keeps him from working on it most days. Five years later, it's finished. 

Both Jason and Hazel had mentioned something about being an artist, that the satisfaction from finishing a work is nothing compared to being able to look at it without judging yourself. Artists are often their own harshest critics. Leo would know, it's taken him five years to be satisfied with it after all. 

Leo finally looks at this sculpture from the eyes of the viewer and not the creator, and he's almost tempted to cry.

He can almost hear this day if he tries, can hear everyone laughing and struggling to get in the frame, can hear the camera prematurely going off while someone blinked or sneezed, can hear Piper smacking his hand away from putting up a V behind her head, can hear the snickering and the flash and the clatter when their homemade stick tripod collapsed to a gala of laughs. 

He can hear Jason's voice, chuckling and pulling an arm over his shoulders, can hear him snorting incredulously or in amusement whenever this one thing went wrong in nearly every way possible, and it _hurts._

He hasn't heard that laugh in fifteen years, but he still remembers it. Leo could hear it clearly whenever he thought of it. He's been afraid of forgetting before, but vowed not to, in Jason's memory.

Sometimes it feels like remembering just makes it hurt worse.

Back when the pain was still fresh, he wanted never to forget his best friend's smile and his laugh, never to let that memory fade with time.

Now, years later, that memory feels like it's been imprinted into his mind forever. If he pretends, he can almost imagine he's fifteen again, out in the world and stumbling over his own feet in his rush to enjoy life while it was still good. The wind whistles through the chimes Calypso made a few months ago, and the glass raps against the metal in a playful little tune. 

Leo thinks it's almost intentional.

It's a pretty fitting tune for the first of July, or so he thinks. 

He thinks of an old friend who felt the wind as playfully as he did fire, a friend who would've played those chimes like the old piano that Calypso chimes away on every now an again. The tune is short and cheerful, and maybe Leo's ears are playing tricks on him, but it doesn't matter, because when he hums along to those chimes while the wind sends his hair fluttering, he hums along to a tune that's been used since time immemorial to celebrate someone's birth. 

_Happy birthday, Jason._

* * *

Piper's footsteps are slow as she takes in the breath of fresh air she's been hankering after all week. 

She's had marked today in her calendar since the beginning of the year, and nobody will disturb her today.

She's meeting up with Reyna today, and her hair swishes in the wind of the early July morning while her shoes clack against the cobblestone path.

Reyna's standing just up the next hill, and they wave at each other before Piper finally makes it to the crest. The breeze rustles the falling flowers from the trees nearby, and Piper reaches out to fix Reyna's circlet from where it's gone a bit lopsided. Reyna in turn plucks a few stray petals off the top of Piper's head. 

Her bag feels heavier in her arms now that the moment's finally arrived, but she steels her nerves and makes her way down to Jason's mausoleum alongside Reyna in near silence. They don't need to say anything. 

The rocky path has been smoothened out from the countless feet that have stepped over it, and the raw edges of the hedges make the path seem even more whimsical than it was to begin with. It's a set of beautiful marble columns that greet them before they step past the threshold, and Piper reaches out to feel the cool stone beneath her palm, if only to ground her.

There's stacks and stacks of flowers that have been set aside today, and while neither Piper nor Reyna have something to add to the set of bouquets, they have something to add to this memorial all the same. Piper opens her bag to remove a set of candles, some tall, some short, some carved and others smooth. They're all in varying shades of purple, and Reyna does the work of lighting them. 

They stand for a moment, feeling the effect of the years that went by on this little corner of the world that remembers Jason like he never left. Reyna gives Piper a curt nod before she goes, and Piper stands there all by herself. It affords her the privacy she needs to leave behind her letter, and choked up with unshed tears, she leaves.

She might not have been able to say much, but that much pondered letter said everything she wanted to say.

_Happy birthday, Jason._

* * *

Lightning streaks across the midday sky, nearly invisible among the pale clouds until they clear, leaving behind shocks and streaks of white-teal on blue. There is no storm, not this year. The wind swerves around and over hills and crossroads, where the silhouettes of trees give away to reveal a girl in a silver parka, with her dark hair left untied and tumbling about her shoulders. Her eyes are just as piercing and blue as the dead she's graving.

Jason's sister is alone.

She's paid her respects, she's gone to Janus to pray for her beloved brother's happiness, but her illusion is shattered. She'd gone to search for Juno about a month ago, only to end up face to face with the reality of the choice her brother had made. 

Rebirth.

Thalia remembers that willowy girl at the diner, her icy blue eyes didn't hold the same pensive sadness and anger that Jason's did. Her choppy blonde curls didn't have a bullet mark cutting across the scalp like Jason's did. Her scar struck her chin and not her lip, and somehow Thalia still realized it the moment she laid eyes on that girl.

Her stepmother had decided, and had pleaded with Janus to bring her child back with such a striking resemblance to who she used to be. Thalia remembers feeling like she'd be violently ill, and angry didn't even begin to describe how infuriated she was with her sire's wife. What right did she have to keep Jason in her life when everyone else had simply been forced to lose him? What right did she have to hide the truth from this girl?

Thalia was disgusted. 

Her stepmother couldn't even have the courtesy to let her mourn in peace.

The clouds gather now, fueled by her rage. She'd had a better grip on her emotions earlier, but that ship has since sailed. The roiling storm darkens the sky, and the water falls earthward with deafening claps of thunder. 

When Thalia stands there alone, on an empty hill in the middle of nowhere, she feels better somehow. She can't differentiate her tears from the falling rain, and they all streak down her cheeks and burn sobs out of her throat. It's cathartic.

Thalia learned to believe in the power of a good cry after Jason died. She's glad she did. Now at least, she can pull herself together, no longer forced to grieve, but able to celebrate the life her brother led. She isn't sure of herself, which is unbelievably rare. Either way, she wants to think of happy memories today. She'll consult with her sister and patroness later, today is for her own sake. As lightning strikes again, Thalia wipes her face of tears, and smiles weakly at the skies above her.

"Am I an idiot to love you this much?" she ponders, and the thought gives way to a rueful laugh. "I miss you, little brother. So, so much."

_Happy birthday, Jason._

* * *

Frank and Hazel are hosting their reunion this month.

There's a storm brewing outside, but time and change have taught them all to appreciate the time they had with each other. They're going to be here anyway.

"Rain or shine," Hazel mumbles, rocking Marie to sleep so she can get some rest while her parents catch up with their nearest and dearest. She yawns softly against her mother's shoulder, pawing at Hazel's sleeve like a toddler lost in a crowd.

"Go to sleep maman?"

Hazel smiles.

"Go to sleep, ma petit coeur." 

She dozes off, out like a candle. Hazel takes her upstairs and tucks her in, stopping by the door of her bedroom when she sees Frank looking over old albums full of pictures and memories scribbled into the margins. She walks over to lean on his shoulder, and leans into the arm around her waist. 

They stand there for a moment, and Hazel leaves to the porch to finish her painting. It's a rather unorthodox composition for her to do, a field of wildflowers and a clear sky, with a head of blonde hair peeking over the bushes of flowers just barely. She remembers what Percy mentioned about daisies, and it caught her fancy.

Perhaps Jason is in a field of flowers somewhere, staring out at the vast sky that makes up his realm.

She hopes, as she always fervently does, that he's at peace, wherever he is. 

The door starts ringing at regular intervals every 20 minutes or so, and after an hour is up, company has arrived. She moves her painting inside, unable to continue her work in the darkness, but she's quiet when she stands by the window to find it streaked with rain. 

"Hazel!" 

An a few hours of photo albums and takeout pizza end far too soon. It feels like no time has passed at all. 

As the clock gets nearer and nearer to striking midnight, the room goes quiet. Frank decides to break the quiet.

"Come on, for old time's sake," he says, "let's have a toast."

A silent agreement falls over the room as glasses raise.

_Happy birthday, Jason._

* * *

Grace notices June's awfully quiet. It's worrying. 

June is usually full of bright cheer, but today her cheeks are sunken with misery, and her eyes are swollen from crying. It's when she sees the black dress and veil that she really starts to worry.

"What is it June?" she calls softly, wrapping her in a hug.

"I miss my boy," June sniffs, "today's his birthday."

Grace hardly knows anything about June's dead son. Even though June is crying right now, the information is nevertheless appreciated. "How about we do something nice for him? We can make some cotton candy, the machine's working now."

"That's awfully sweet of you, my little hero." June smiles.

June seems to feel calmer now that she's done something for her son. Grace waves her goodnight, and smiles to herself when she presses her ear to the door and hears June say, "Jason would've liked it."

"So I _was_ right, the name in all those sketchbooks was June's son."

Grace sits in the bay window seat, shutting all the windows and doors in preparation for the storm on the horizon. Her cotton candy is in one hand, and her library book is in the other. She nibbles on the sugar while the rain pours outside. Grace had always had a soft spot for artists. As her sweet indulgence is fully eaten and her fingers are too sticky to flip the pages of her book, she turns her attention to the striking lightning outside her window, thinking of her strange dreams, of the girl in them, who she's sure Jason would've drawn for her if she asked. 

Grace marks the date on her calendar once her hands are washed and her page is bookmarked. She vows to remember it from now on. She decides to start now. Once her lights are off and her lamp alone was lit, Grace mumbles into the heavy night air before falling asleep.

"Happy birthday, Jason."


End file.
